


Deafening Silence

by BekkaChaos



Series: Gallavich Drabbles [141]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 5x06, Angst, Canon Compliant, Gallavich, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3386306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BekkaChaos/pseuds/BekkaChaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Following the events of 5x06 where Mickey goes home with the Gallagher's and Carl tries to console him in his own way.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deafening Silence

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. this is not going to be a happy fic, more of an extension of what's going on in Mickey's head.

Mickey couldn't tell whether he was numb or whether every nerve in his body was being pulled and pinched and prodded. He was shaking and the part of him that would be thankful for Lip driving him back to the Gallagher's place was being drowned out by every other voice in his head.

The car ride back from the facility was painfully quiet, the hitch in everyone's throat stopping anyone from saying a word. Tears streamed silently down Mickey's face but no one said anything and he couldn't stop them if he tried.

Maybe he was scared, maybe he was devastated, maybe he was in shock, it was most likely all three but he couldn't pick one from the other as he ran mostly on auto-pilot.

"You're uh, you're welcome to crash here," Lip said as they started to get out of the car. "Unless you gotta get the kid back to your wife."

Mickey shook his head, taking Yevgeny out and holding him close. "She won't be back 'til morning... labour..." he said, his voice scratchy and tired.

"Well, you're welcome to use Liam's old crib, put him down, get him some food..." Lip said and Fiona walked over to stand beside him.

"Come on Mickey, you look exhausted," Fiona said.

She almost thought about putting a hand on his shoulder but folded her arms instead, knowing it probably wouldn't help.

He just gave her a nod and headed inside. They thought he would want to be left alone and after Debbie showed him to the spare crib and Fiona brought up something reminiscent of baby food, they left him with the infant upstairs.

No one said anything, what could there have possibly been to say?

Yev went down very quickly, the kid's had probably the biggest day in his life.

Mickey watched him sleeping for the first time in a while, his small chest rising and falling with his little fists lifted up above his head. He sighed, stepping back and looking around the room, Ian's old room.

He had slept there for a while, on the bed in the corner, and even though Ian hadn't lived there for a long time it was still his home.

He took in a shaky breath and before he could stop it, the tears were building in his eyes again. He ran a hand through his hair and his tired eyes stung with the salty drops as he sat back on the bed and tried to control his sobbing.

" _Jesus Ian_..." he choked, putting his palms against his eyes as if he was trying to force the tears back in.

He didn't blame him, he wasn't so mad any more, he just wanted Ian to get help, to get better, and it killed him that he couldn't be the one to do it.

In his emotional state he didn't hear the door open as Carl walked in, eyeing him carefully. He watched him for a moment until Mickey noticed his presence and tried - unsuccessfully - to wipe any trace of his crying from his face.

"You want a beer?" Carl asked quietly, holding out a bottle.

Mickey just looked up at him, the kid looked honestly concerned. He didn't want to talk about it, at all, but he took the bottle and just gave him a nod. He stayed standing in the doorway.

"Fiona says he'll get better if he stays there," he said. "She said that they can help him."

Mickey sniffed and took a long sip of the beer. It was a little warm but he didn't care.

"She says that it's his rock bottom, like when Liam almost died. She says he can only get better," he said.

Mickey looked up again, letting a long heavy sigh out from his weary lungs. "You believe that?" he asked, wondering if the kid was saying all this stuff to try and convince himself.

"Maybe," he said, looking down at his feet.

Mickey handed the bottle back to him and Carl took a sip.

"I'm not gonna keep you awake cryin' or some shit," Mickey said, sniffing again. "You wanna go to bed... go."

"Nah," Carl said with a small shrug. "Wouldn't be able to sleep."

Mickey nodded, knowing just how true that was.

"You gonna sleep here?"

Mickey's fingers gently caressed the sheets, Ian's scent and heat long gone from them. He didn't know it was possible for them to feel just as full as they were empty.

"Yeah," he said softly, the ache in his chest growing as he thought about Ian all alone in that place.

He wanted to change his mind and go back to get him, take him in his arms and make him better himself. He wanted to believe that he was enough to make him better but he knew, he  _knew_ , that he wasn't.

"You want me to find you some food?"

Mickey's lips twitched until they resembled somewhat of a smile.

"I'm good," he said.

Carl nodded again before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a clumsily wrapped joint, holding it out to Mickey.

"Thought you weren't dipping into the product?" he asked.

Carl shrugged. "Found some cash hanging out of Frank's back pocket."

Mickey shook his head. "Keep it, man. Don't let your sister see or she'll probably kick your ass."

This time Carl cracked a weak smile, putting it back into his pocket before turning to walk away.

Mickey hadn't realised how much the short conversation had distracted him from the silence, and now that it was gone, the sound of the silence was deafening.

He kicked off his shoes and pulled the belt out of its loops, lying down gingerly on his side. As he stared at the wall his fingers traced over the empty spot in front of him where Ian would have fit so nicely, the place that he should be.

He wasn't sobbing anymore, but the tears still slid down over his cheeks and his throat was dry as everything played over and over in his head.

Somewhere down the line he heard Carl come in and climb into his bed. He could tell he wasn't sleeping, he could tell most of the Gallagher's wouldn't be sleeping that night.

He knew they'd all be thinking about Ian, and about their mother, Monica. He wasn't like her, he was going to get better, but the road was going to be a long one.

Mickey was counting down the hours until he could see Ian again. He had to convince him he needed this, he didn't know what it would mean if he couldn't.

So he committed himself to a night of restless sleep - if any - and tried to pretend that he couldn't feel the emptiness pressing in on him from all angles.


End file.
